The glimmer from the fire-light died quite away, and only the bright stars kept watch over them.  The moon was not where she could look in at those north or east kitchen windows.  But by degrees the fair April night changed.  Clouds gathered themselves up from all quarters of the horizon, till they covered the sky; the faces of the stars were hid; thunder began to roll along among the hills, and bright incessant flashes of white lightning kept the room in a glare.  The violence of the storm did not come over Shah-wee-tah, but it was more than enough to rouse Winthrop, whose sleep was not so deep as his little sister’s.  And when Winnie did come to her consciousness she found herself lifted from the floor and on her brother’s lap; he half sitting up; his arms round her, and her head still on his breast.  Her first movement of awakening was to change her position and throw her arms around his neck.

“Winnie —­” he said gently.

The flood-gates burst then, and her heart poured itself out, her head alternately nestling in his neck and raised up to kiss his face, and her arms straining him with nervous eagerness.

“O Winthrop! —­ O Winthrop! —­ O dear Winthrop! —­” was the cry, as fast as sobs and kisses would let her.

“Winnie —­” said her brother again.

“O Winthrop! —­ why didn’t you come!”

He did not answer that, except by the heaving breast which poor Winnie could not feel.

“I am here now, dear Winnie.”

“O Winthrop! —­” Winnie hesitated, and the burden of her heart would burst forth, —­ “why aren’t you a Christian! —­”

It was said with a most bitter rush of tears, as if she felt that the most precious thing she had, lacked of preciousness; that her most sure support needed a foundation.  But when a minute had stilled the tears, and she could hear, she heard him say, very calmly,

“I am one, Winnie.”

Her tears ceased absolutely on his shoulder, and Winnie was for a moment motionless.  Then as he did not speak again, she unclasped her arms and drew back her head to look at him.  The constant flashes of light gave her chance enough.

“You heard me right,” he said.

“Are you?” —­ she said wistfully.

“By God’s help —­ this night and for ever.”

Winnie brought her hands together, half clapping, half clasping them, and then threw them to their former position around his neck, exclaiming, —­

“Oh if she had known it before —!”

There was no answer to that, of words; and Winnie could not see the sudden paleness which witnessed to the answer within.  But it came, keen as those lightning flashes, home-thrust as the thunderbolts they witnessed to, that his ‘now’ had come too late for her.